Say That We're Sweethearts Again
by Madame Estrella
Summary: The Joker never thought something was missing from his world, until Harley Quinn stepped into his universe.
1. She Asks For the Truth

**Disclaimer: Characters are property of D.C. Comics; I receive no financial gain from writing this.**

**

* * *

  
**

A/N: Doctor Harleen Quinzel is based on the likeness of actress Traylor Howard.

**

* * *

  
**

"Why do you call yourself the Joker?" Asked the young doctor who sat across a table from the Joker in a concrete walled room on the grainy black and white screen.

On a similar screen beside that one the same woman appeared to be on the floor of a small utility closet on all fours and screaming. Her face was bruised and her broken glasses lay on the floor nearby while the Joker laughed.

_The patient has shown no response to medications given to him by prior physicians. At this time, I am removing him from those medications using the stepping-down method and prescribing him 2mg Lorazepam in the interim to help with anxiety. At that point I will begin him on Abilify and go from there. _Her notes read after their first session.

"I don't remember anything past two years ago" the Joker replied hazily on another screen.

"Is that when you got the scars?" Doctor Harleen Quinzel asked pushing her round glasses up her nose with one finger. Her pretty features offset by her overly large frames and the tight bun she'd pulled her blonde hair into.

Bruce Wayne took another drink of coffee and set his jaw as he watched the various recordings once again. Commissioner Gordon had taken a big risk by giving the Dark Knight copies of the surveillance and session tapes from Arkham but with a hostage he felt it was well worth it.

Two hours ago the Joker had sent the news stations a new tape making threats and the young doctor being at the core.

"Do you understand the meaning of crime?" The Joker asked leaning toward Doctor Quinzel.

"Why don't you tell me what you think it is?" She replied studiously. He scoffed and shook his head.

"It's simply breaking the laws or rules of society. Do you know that in some places, I haven't done anything wrong? In fact, I would be wrongly imprisoned. In Gotham _that's_ a crime." He replied in a tone Bruce well remembered.

"You belong to this society and must adhere by its rules." She replied sharply. Joker rolled his eyes.

"In this society it's against the law to tear those little tags off of pillows." He said. "You know why? It's because people are so stupid that they need to be reminded that it's not a good idea to set their pillows on fire and that this isn't the one magical one that they can set fire to without burning their own house down."

"Yes, there are rules in place to help those with poor judgment skills." She said. He regarded her skeptically.

"Yeah, that's why we have so many goddamned warnings, for everything! And a lot of those warnings are backed by law making the actions criminal. I thought about this one day when I needed to buy a new pillow. I stood there reading that warning label and you know what I did?" He asked tilting his head at her.

"You cut the tag off the pillow before you bought it?" She replied.

"That one and every other one in the aisle. In fact I believe it's become a compulsive behavior of mine. I can't walk past a pillow without ripping those damned tags off." He said.

On another screen the Joker told her about how he had trouble forming relationships with people and another told terrible stories of abuse by the hands of his father. Bruce watched each screen, observing the behaviors of the players on them as the Joker systematically broke through Doctor Quinzel's professional barrier and she began to sympathize with him. Only she never seemed to realize it.

Her notes told how she found contradictions he made with every session, yet the tapes showed her entranced by his storytelling. She had begun to like her patient and it was at that time she should have walked away as a seasoned professional would have.

But she was not seasoned, only a mere intern who never should have been left alone in the same room with the Joker. Joan Leland tearfully admitted that herself to Gordon and had told him that her and Doctor Michaelson had initially put Doctor Quinzel with the Joker so he would scare her. They thought she was a sham to the psychiatric community and was a glory seeking sycophant waiting to be given the right patient to write a book about and become famous. Their intention had been to drive her out of Arkham. In a way, they had succeeded.

Bruce typed a few commands and all screens displayed the final session recording. Doctor Quinzel leaned toward the Joker smiling.

"Why do you call yourself the Joker?" She asked. He regarded her blankly.

"As supposed to what?" He replied.

"Well, a lot of criminals go by a different name than their given name, one associated with their criminal personas. Zodiac, Scarecrow," she began but was cut off by his laughter.

"Are you asking what was funny about my crimes?" He laughed. She shook her head.

"No. These other people differentiate their 'straight' lives from their criminal personas. You are different. You perpetuate this image of a homicidal clown to everyone. You've changed your hair color; you presumably mutilated yourself if those stories are true. You became the Joker. You left whatever life you previously led behind and assumed an entirely different identity. Why did you choose this one?" She asked sincerely.

"I know your colleagues think less of you, Harley. They think you're stupid, vapid, undeserving of your place here. You show me your ignorance every time you speak. You try to appear sophisticated but I can tell that you really are as cheap as you are rumored to be. So why do _you_ choose to live this way?" He replied.

She sat back, taken aback and her lips parted slightly and she blinked a few times. Bruce assumed she was blinking back tears from the Joker's verbal slap in the face.

"Are you going to cry, because that would be just amazing," he stated flatly.

"You're not so much different from the rest of these people. They, you are all clowns to someone else. Entertaining each other's preconceptions of reality and marching to the death rattle of your societal rules. I never said I was funny, Harley. But I don't hide who I really am like the rest of you either. I am the most honest and genuine person you will ever meet in your sad little life. And I think we've played this little game for long enough."

With that the Joker raised a hand and dropped the pair of handcuffs he had been wearing on the table with a loud clatter in the small room. Doctor Quinzel gasped as he lunged for her and yanked her from her seat and onto the table. He quickly moved around it, shoving her hard against it before striking her across the face. Then he placed both of his hands around her throat and leaned close to her, shushing her before speaking to her in an inaudible voice, murmuring in her ear.

Bruce knew he was instructing her in what was to come next.


	2. I Think You're Funny When You're Mad

She sat cross-legged on the dirty floor of the dark closet chewing her fingernails down to the quick. It was an awful habit she thought she had broken years before when her therapist had taught her different ways to channel her stress and anxiety. But now the habit had returned as her only outlet, not to mention the only thing with which she could occupy herself in her small prison. Chewing each nail until it became soft and easy to tear and pull away. Then she moved on to the edges to chew away the little pieces which remained. It was gross, but then again, so was this room.

An old utility closet had been her home for an indeterminable length of time. It had a faucet and a shallow basin. Only the cold water worked. It at least gave her something to drink and a place to pee. There weren't any chemicals or other cleaning supplies in there with her. He was smart, he didn't leave her anything she could surprise him with besides throwing cold water in his face.

'Would he melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West?'

She chuckled at the thought of him covering his face, crying out in pain as the white make-up melted away before the rest of him did as well. Then the world would be rid of the Joker and she would be a hero.

She moved on to her right ring finger and began chewing.

She had been terrified at first when he'd thrown her inside the closet and slammed the door shut then locked it. She could hear him laughing at her screams and futile pounding on the door.

"Let me go, I don't want to die!" He'd called back in a high pitched voice, mocking her as he pounded back. Then his side of the door had fallen silent and she cried harder.

For all she knew he was still there sitting on the other side, listening. Another flood of silent tears came as she thought of him sitting there, laughing to himself while he decided when he would come in and kill her.

She ran her fingers through her blonde hair and wiped her tears and looked over at the crack at the bottom of the door and the dim light it allowed through. No one was standing in front of the door she would be able to make out the shadow of their feet.

Perhaps he wasn't there. Maybe he had just left her there to die. Slowly.

* * *

She was asleep when he returned, curled up on the floor using her folded arms as a pillow. She started at the sound of the door unlocking and then squinted at the cruel light which filled her eyes, causing black spots to swim in them. She wearily pushed herself up to a sitting position against the wall as she blinked up at him. She smelled food.

The Joker stepped into the closet, now dressed in his purple suit and make-up on his face. He took a seat on the floor in front of her and set down a paper bag and a couple of lidded cups. He glanced up and looked around the space.

"Nice place you've got here, Harley." He winked at her and she stared back at him with disgust.

He pulled a sandwich wrapped in foil out of the bag and handed it to her and she snatched it away and quickly unwrapped it and bit into the hamburger. She didn't care where it came from, or what he'd laced it with, or how he looked going through the drive-thru. She was starving. The juices and mustard and ketchup were on her lips and fingers as she tore into the sandwich. She didn't care how she looked even when she glimpsed his amused expression. She licked the condiments off her fingers and reached for the bag. He quickly grabbed it away and she scowled at him.

"Slow down, you're going to make yourself sick." He said teasingly as he handed the bag to her. She shook her head at his lame joke and pulled out another sandwich. He took one as well and she ate more slowly this time, watching him.

He tore pieces off his sandwich and put them into his mouth, chewing slowly. At first she was perplexed as to why he was eating this way until she noticed how his scars pulled at his mouth as he chewed. Taking large bites was probably hard for him to do. It was a little cute.

She frowned and looked back at her own food and focused on that instead. _Nothing_ about the Joker was _cute_. Not the way he'd choked her and slapped her around in the therapy room. Not the way he'd made her call in the guards so he could kill them and take their clothes. Not the way he'd forced her at gunpoint to lead him out of Arkham Asylum and to her car and drive him away. Not the way he'd thrown her into this closet and left her in the dark for who knew how long.

She thought Leland had been a condescending bitch when she had told Harley that she wasn't cut out for this line of work and dealing with madmen like the Joker. She had been right.

"Is this supposed to be my last meal?" She asked looking him in his dark drown eyes. He snorted and ate another piece of his sandwich in response.

"Hmm, not this time. It seems the nice people of Gotham have agreed to my terms for your release, much to my amusement." He grinned at her and winked. She sighed and set down the rest of her sandwich, he frowned at this.

"Now don't tell me you're going to waste that perfectly good burger." He barked in a condescending manner. She winced.

"I, I don't feel so well." She said quietly gazing out the open door to the dimly lit hallway beyond. His laughter pierced her brain.

"I _told_ you you'd get sick. As a _doc_tor you really should have _known _better." He said and when she looked back at him he wore a maniacal grin.

"When am I going home?" She asked. He rolled his eyes and finished his sandwich before starting on the rest of hers.

"I am going home?" She prodded.

He heaved a sigh, seemingly annoyed with her questions. He got to his feet and left the closet, taking the sandwich with him before locking her in again.

"Shit." Harley breathed.

* * *

"Now its dark and I'm alone but I won't be afraid; in my room, in my room." Harley sang the Beach Boys song as she leaned against the wall, eyes closed with her arms wrapped around her folded legs.

Clapping hands startled her and her eyes snapped open as she turned to the door, cringing. Joker stood in the doorway applauding her for her meditative singing. She had been so entranced she didn't even hear him enter. It didn't take long for her to register that the clapping was sarcastic.

"Well, I'm not going to miss _that_." He snorted and held out a hand to her.

She eyed it warily before taking his hand with hers and he hoisted her from the floor. She swayed a bit and saw him pull something from his pocket, a blindfold. She sighed resignedly and turned around so he could bind her hands and cover her eyes.

With a hand planted firmly against the small of her back, he led her out of her closet and out of his hideout and into a car all the while humming to himself tunelessly.

She thought her song was better.


	3. Five Days Since I Laughed at You

A/N: Jeremiah Arkham is based on the likeness of actor Donald Sutherland, David Rubenstein is based on the likeness of actor Michael Weston.

**

* * *

  
**

Jeremiah Arkham entered the small conference room in the offices of Turner, Schultz and Hotch. Harleen Quinzel stiffened as she took in the tall man who wore an intense gaze directed at her as two other men followed him inside. The three men sat down opposite of her and David Rubenstein at the table. David patted her hand gently and then set his cold, blue eyes upon Arkham. The brunette opened a portfolio on the desk in front of him and smiled, but not kindly.

"Doctor Arkham, I know you and you're lawyers have had time to review these documents, so let's get down to it. You can settle the matter here or we can drag this into an open and very public trial." David said and sat back in his seat with authority.

Arkham quirked an arched brow at him and glanced at his legal advisors and then looked at Harleen.

"I must say that I am very sorry for what happened to Doctor Quinzel, but I fail to see how you can hold the asylum responsible for the actions of the Joker." He said in a calm voice.

Harleen sucked in a sharp breath and moved to stand and shout the man down, but David touched her arm and looked at her pleadingly. She acquiesced and stayed in her seat. The bruises and small cuts she wore on her face making the scowl she gave Arkham all the worse.

"We have affidavits from several of your employees and the police as well as the statements you gave when you turned over funds for the ransom for Doctor Quinzel's release." David replied.

"The reputation of your institution has already been tarnished by the actions of Doctor Jonathan Crane and I believe that a public trial would further hurt its image. I assume that it would be very bad for you to lose funding from your private contributors for the sake of their own reputations. Everyone in the city saw the Joker's tape and what he did to Doctor Quinzel. I doubt they would be very sympathetic to your plight in this lawsuit in court." David said confidently.

"We have prepared a counter-offer for your consideration." One of Arkham's lawyers replied as he slid a couple documents across the table. David and Harleen both looked at them and Harleen's face flushed red beneath her blue-yellow bruises. David glanced at her and conveyed an expression meant to keep her quiet. She sighed and shot a glare at the other men.

"This is unacceptable." David said calmly.

* * *

Harleen threw open the door to her apartment and threw her keys and purse and growled with frustration as David closed the door behind them. It had been a long, grueling afternoon with Arkham and his attorneys and she had had to hold in her feelings and her tongue throughout the whole process.

"I know it's not exactly what you wanted, Harley, but at least you still have your job, your dignity." He said reassuringly as he slid his hands down her shoulders and tried to pull her into an embrace. She tensed up and he let her go and watched her storm off to the bedroom.

David sighed and went to the kitchen from which he retrieved a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and then joined Harley in the bedroom where she lay face down upon the bed, screaming into her pillow. Her body shook with sobs as David set the bottle and glasses on the nightstand and sat down, gently rubbing circles on her back.

He abandoned the idea of calming her with alcohol and lay beside her, wrapping an arm loosely around her, stroking her long blonde hair while he planted small kisses on her head. She would inevitably go to sleep again without eating and wake up throughout the night screaming and in tears.

David tried his best to take care of her but felt nearly as helpless as she did. He was a lawyer but not a counselor. He'd known from the very beginning when Harley had come home so excited that she had gotten the Joker's case that it would end badly. He hadn't expected that it would end with the Joker kidnapping and menacing his fiancé while he held her hostage for two days.

The phone rang and Harley rolled her head slowly to look at him.

"I don't want to talk to anyone, David." She said in a small voice with a pleading look in her eyes.

"And you don't have to, sweetheart." He replied, gently kissing her forehead.

"Do you really have to go?" She asked, wiping her face.

David's heart sank as she asked the question again. He was scheduled to leave the following afternoon for a week-long legal conference in Japan. The timing was horrible as just five days before his love had been through such a terrible ordeal. They both had, but for her it had been devastating. In the wake, Arkham had tried to fire her and her colleagues discredit her. Why she still wanted the job puzzled him, but he stood by her side.

"I'm sorry." He breathed and she sniffed as she shed new tears. "Commissioner Gordon said he would have an officer stay here while I'm gone."

"Because _He's_ still out there" She spat. "If someone had been watching like they were supposed to this never would have happened." He touched her face.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and she looked at him darkly.

"No, don't say you're sorry. Everyone's been _saying_ that and they don't really mean it. They're just happy that it didn't happen to them." She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes. "_He_ didn't say he was sorry."

"Harley," he began but she cut him off.

"No! Get out! Leave me alone, I don't want your reassurance, I don't want Arkham's damn money, I want my_ life_ back." She snapped and began sobbing. "I want everything to be just like it was before, before."

* * *

Joker hummed to himself as he cleaned and oiled his Glock 18 and glanced at the news playing on the television. They were still talking about him and he chuckled and began to reassemble his weapon. The sound of her voice as she pleaded with the reporters caught his attention and he looked up again.

Doctor Harley's harried expression and the exasperation in her voice as she repeatedly cried "no comment" as the reporters followed her and a man to a car amused him.

"Don't you _like_ to answer questions, Harley?" He smirked. "Oh right, you prefer to be the one asking the questions, sorry my mistake."

The reporters talked about how she'd met with Arkham and his legal team and Joker frowned at the manner in which the man behaved with Harley as he helped her into the car. They way they looked at one another. He rose and stepped closer to the screen as their retreat was replayed a couple of times as is par with news networks with limited footage. He tilted his head and studied their expressions. Then he clenched his jaw and hit the button to shut off the television.

They were lovers, he realized. It was funny that she or anyone else had neglected to divulge that information. It would have made the time he'd spent with her that much more amusing. Not to mention the enjoyment he would have had playing with the boyfriend while he had Harley under lock and key.

There was always next time.

He returned to his table and glanced at the scattered papers and implements and placed his hands upon it, his fingers spread wide. He was tense; laying low did that to him. In the asylum he had no other choice but to sit in his cell and cook up new ideas for when he got out. Being on the outside and still a prisoner because every damned fool in the city now knew what he really looked like and were looking for him was worse than being locked up.

At least he had some seed money to get things rolling again. He'd spent the past week getting things back in order, finding old and new help and getting his head together. He still had to remain relatively invisible while getting back into Gotham's underworld and that was not an easy punch to pull. It wouldn't be as easy to get people to follow him this time around.

A noise broke his train of thought. He glanced toward the stairwell and saw a brilliant flash of light and a sound like distant thunder which accompanied it. He frowned and picked up his gun and cautiously approached the stairwell. He knew his moods were often dark, but not so much that it would create a thunderstorm under his own roof.

He smelled ozone.

He hunched his shoulders and set a foot quietly on the stair below and then the one after that and so on, the tension building within him so that he felt like a spring winding and winding into a tight coil.

He heard a voice call out from the floor he was silently approaching, a confused and frightened tone within it.

It was a woman's voice.

"Mista J! Mista J? Where are ya?" The voice despaired.

He frowned; no one had ever called him by that name. He stopped at the entrance to the living room and tilted his head to peer into the darkness. The windows were covered with newspaper and allowed little light into the room. Even still, he saw a short figure stumbling around, arms outstretched and feeling for something solid.

A floorboard creaked.

"Mista J?" Her voice called. And it _was_ Her voice. He closed his eyes and flicked the light switch on.

He opened his eyes to see a woman in a red and black jester's costume covering her eyes, blinded by the sudden light. She let out a little squeak and then blinked her eyes as they adjusted to the light. Hers were light blue eyes behind a black domino mask, her face painted white.

She saw him.

"Mista J! Why'd ya hafta sneak around in the dark? I was worried!" She cried and then blinked her eyes a few times as she studied him.

"Harley?" He asked bewildered both by her presence and her appearance.

"Y-you're not Mista J" she said sounding nervous. She took a step backward and quickly glanced around the room before looking at him again.

"Where is he, what'd ya do with my Puddin'?" She said in an angry, scared voice.

She lunged at him and he caught her as she began hitting him. He grabbed at her wrists and she landed a knee to his groin. He doubled over and she jumped on his back, pulling his hair. He tried to shake her off of him and then backed into a wall, hard. She lost her grip and he whirled around and caught her with a glancing blow of his gun to the side of her head. She went down, moving her lips slowly as she lost consciousness.

He stood above her, eyeing her crumpled form warily.

"What the hell?" He said to himself shaking his head.

* * *

A/N: Harley Quinn is based on the likeness of actress Mia Sara.

This was my original idea for the story that became "Me and My Old Lady." It was based off this inspiring little comic.

http://wolves-dragons .Deviantart .com/art/ where-s-your-harley- 96249896


End file.
